


Comin' Home

by agdgoddess



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Because Daryl Is Still a Dixon Goddamn It, Feels, Friendship But There Is So Much More There, M/M, Pre-Rickyl, Swearing, The Boys Getting Out of Another Tough Spot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:44:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agdgoddess/pseuds/agdgoddess
Summary: Daryl is having trouble adjusting to life in Alexandria and needs to escape the confines of its walls for his own sanity. But something always makes him return...





	Comin' Home

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the mind fuck that is The Walking Dead. If I did, there would be much more action between our boys after those shared, heated looks...

Alexandria isn't his home. Living in one of those fancy houses feels as foreign to him as if he were living in the fuckin' White House. That's why he still chooses to sleep on the couch, facing the front door like he expects death to bust through at any moment. It's happened too many goddamn times before and there's no way that he's letting his fucking guard down now.

  
The others...they make it look so damn easy. Slipping into roles they were born to play, hiding away the skills and instincts they honed these hard years that had kept them alive. Or they're simply reverting back into who they were before the end of the world. Old habits die hard, after all.

  
Maybe that explains why he now spends his days out in the woods by himself. Except for the absence of Merle, this is who he was before shit went down. Hunter. Tracker. _Survivor_. No friends or family 'sides Merle. Didn't ever need nothin' from nobody.

  
He's not gonna put on an act like the rest of 'em. As much as Daryl hates the pointed stares and barely concealed whispers of the naive folk around him who have never stepped foot outside these walls, he's gonna still skin his kills on the front porch and swear and eat fast and loud, more often using his fingers than not. Let 'em look. He doesn't have anything to prove, not to them.

  
Sometimes when he's out here where it's quiet and the world makes sense, he thinks about not going back. Things are changing and being locked up in suburbia hell makes his skin itch.

  
He knows he should be grateful that his family was let inside those walls, and he is. Not for himself. But for Maggie and Glenn. For Michonne. For Carol and the rest of his group. Especially for Carl and for Judith. Maybe they could have the chance to be normal kids for a bit. For Rick.

  
_Rick_. The man's endured so many emotional, mental and physical beat downs from this world it's a fucking miracle he's still alive, not to mention sane. He may waver at times, but he'll never fall. Not while he has an ounce of breath left in him. That man's the reason why they're still alive. Yes, the group has lost so many but that's the new, insane reality. It's only a matter of time 'fore your number's up. The only unknown is how many short days you have left and how it's gonna happen. He'll be damned if he ends up one of those fuckers when his time comes. Daryl keeps one lone bullet separate in his pocket for the 9mm Smith  & Wesson that's tucked in the back waistband of his khakis, saving it just for that particular farewell party.

  
He and Rick made a pact once out on a run. It was back during the days at the prison and it had just been the two of them, caught in a run-down, shit-hole trailer, much like the one from his childhood. They were completely surrounded by walkers, hunkered down out of sight in the tiny, windowless kitchen, no food or water between them. The ceaseless snarls and pounding of the dead were deafening. All the two men could do was hope something, anything, came along to distract them so they could make a quick exit and perhaps live to see another day.

  
Over two long days passed. Time was running out and they both knew it. Their pieces lay on the dingy floor between them, cruelly taunting them with the easy way out. Over a dozen times Daryl insisted that he go out first, using himself to draw the bastards away so Rick had a chance to make it home to his children. Rick talked him out of it every damn time, insisting in firm, sharp whispers that something would come along and asking Daryl to hold out a bit longer. Finally, enough was enough. The last time he'd had his hand on the handle of the door when he heard the unmistakable click of Rick drawing the hammer back on his Python. He turned his head slightly, seeing Rick had stood and was aiming the heavy revolver right between his eyes.

"There's no fuckin' way, Daryl," Rick snarled at him, finger on the trigger, hand steady despite his dehydration.

  
"Do it then, Rick!" challenged Daryl, eyes narrowing as he took a defiant step towards his leader. "If I'm dead, you can still use my body to get away. Either way, I'm goin' out that fuckin' door and holdin' a gun to my head isn't gonna stop me."

  
"You know what? I believe you." Rick's glacier, piercing stare never wavered from the archer's as he took the gun off Daryl and pointed it at his own temple. "Sit back down," he commanded coldly. "I'll do it. I swear to fucking Christ I will if you take one more step towards that goddamn door."

  
Daryl's eyes went wide, unbelieving. Him going out was the only choice. Didn't Rick see that? "Rick," he started, his voice low and gruff with sorrow.

  
Rick shut his eyes, keeping the cool steel pressed against his skin. "Not you. _Not you_." He ground out harshly, eyes snapping open, fixed with such an icy determination that even Daryl's resolve faltered slightly.

  
"It's the only way, man. Think 'a Carl...Judith. Ya need to get back to 'em. I don't matter. They do."

  
"You don't get it, do you?" Rick's voice was even but Daryl saw the barest trace of tears begin to gather in the corners of his bloodshot eyes. "I couldn't make it without you. I can't, Daryl. Not now, not ever. I _need_ you by my side." A lone tear finally escaped and trailed down his left cheek. "Don't leave me, Daryl. Please." It was the only time Rick had truly begged him for anything and the hunter, just as he always did, couldn't say no to him. Not to his leader. He would do anything that Rick asked of him.

  
Taking cautious steps forward to the kitchen, Daryl nodded, telling him, "You win, Rick." The other man exhaled a shaky breath and finally lowered his gun, letting his legs give out beneath him as he sank clumsily to the floor. Daryl noiselessly sat down next to him, knees bent and arms draped on top. "Ya know what this means?"

  
Rick sighed despondently, tilting his head back against the cabinet behind him. "Yeah, I know." He laid the Python down on the floor next to Daryl's Colt .38 special. Opening his eyes, he swiftly brought his left hand around to grasp at the back of Daryl's neck, forcing Daryl to meet his steadfast stare, fingers entwining into the dark strands of the archer's hair. "You have'ta be the one. Whether it's today or not. Not Maggie or Glenn or Michonne. Not Carl. He can't do that again. _Not again_. It's gotta be you, Daryl. You're the only one I want to do it." Rick's eyes were so goddamn blue, so desperate and Daryl swallowed thickly before answering.

  
"A'right, Rick. I promise. Long as you do the same for me. I want you to end it." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Rick's, calloused hand tightly gripping the forearm now resting on his shoulder. "Use your Python though. If I'm goin' out, I wanna go out with a fuckin' bang."

  
A weak, sad laugh escaped from Rick's mouth as he licked his chapped lips. "You got it."

  
They stayed like that for who knows how much longer. Could have been minutes or hours...just breathing the same air, taking simple solace in being together at what seemed to be the end.

  
Suddenly, a distant popping filled the air. They hastily jerked apart and Rick's eyes flew open to meet Daryl's. "Was that?" he breathed, voice tinged with hope and eyebrows raised in question.

  
"Yah. But not the prison. Wrong direction." The gunshots sounded pretty far off but it might be enough to distract the sea of walkers away from the trailer. They waited...hunched, tense, silent. The scrapes and groans from outside seemed to lessen in number and intensity until they finally chanced standing up to try to make out how many still lingered. The dozen or so that were left seemed congregated towards the front of the trailer near the living room and front door. "Bedroom window," whispered Daryl gruffly. "Now or never." Rick nodded, stealthily creeping towards the back, where there seemed to be about eight walkers on the other side of the window above the molding bed. Trying to stay out of sight as much as possible, Daryl leaned against the wall and slowly slid the window open, the dead immediately pushing their hands greedily against the flimsy screen. He and Rick worked in tandem, silently stabbing them one by one in the head until no more remained. They shared a nod, weapons at the ready, as Daryl kicked the screen out of the window and jumped harshly onto the dead grass below. He rolled but immediately shot back to his feet, expertly dispatching a walker with a bolt that had shuffled around the corner of the building as Rick followed him out the window. They ran to where they had parked the gray pick-up two lots over, slashing at the skulls of the remaining walkers around them, not pausing for breath, pushing their exhausted, empty bodies to their limits. Rick wrenched the driver side door open and roared the engine to life.

  
"C'mon, Daryl!" he yelled hoarsely as he threw it into drive. Daryl was barely halfway in the passenger side before Rick was peeling down the gravel drive, swerving around the errant dead scrambling towards the noise, as the hunter kicked in the skull of a walker still clinging desperately to the running board. He slammed the door shut, crowed "Fuck yeah!" while shaking from pure adrenaline. Rick's smile was beautiful and radiant as the sun in his grime-covered face as he swung the truck onto the local highway back towards the prison, and Daryl felt his heartbeat stutter. Somehow, once more, against all odds, they had made it. He was alive. Rick was alive. His Rick.

  
Daryl knows that it will happen one day, even though he will do everything in his power to prevent it. He fiercely wants to be the one to go first, but he knows the universe doesn't give a fuck about what he wants--never has and never will. If faced with the unthinkable, as horrifying as that possibility is, he has a promise to keep. That is what makes Daryl return, time and time again. Alexandria may not be his home, but Rick is. Always will be. _I'm comin' home, Rick. I'm comin'._

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Comin' Home by City & Colour. This work is unbeta'd so all mistakes are completely my own. Thank you so much for reading!


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